


how we unravel

by NotPersephone



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, Florence Arc, Hair-pulling, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-02 02:37:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16296668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotPersephone/pseuds/NotPersephone
Summary: “You can tell me, Bedelia. Whatever you desire. I am here to please you,” his accent grows thicker with lust, coarse consonants arousing her in turn.





	how we unravel

The sound of the last bells of the day rings over the city, turning calm, remnants of the scorching sun vanishing among the cold stones, but the air in their bedroom is cracking with electricity, hot sparks igniting with each heartfelt kiss on their lips. Hannibal hums in delight as his hand tips her jaw to deepen the kiss. He made it clear she has been on his mind all day and the dinner was a mere formality as they both couldn’t wait for dessert. 

Their lips part when they are both breathless, air feeling like secondary necessity to the urgent need to savour each other. Hannibal’s warm hand moves to caress the line of her back through the fine fabric of her dress, eager fingers lingering over the top of the zipper. She is pliant under his touch, her body responding with a greedy demand for more, silencing her ever present caution. Even in her intimate moments, her control had always been present, keeping her in check. Until now. With Hannibal, she feels unbound, and so far, the experience has been exhilarating, making her want to venture further. A brief flicker in eyes betrays a notion slowly coiling within her, revealing itself with the loosening threads of her defences.

“Yes?” he utters with obvious interest, voice dripping with desire, then presses a kiss under her jaw.

“It is nothing,” her response comes out as half sigh, her body leaning into his caress.

Hannibal lifts his head and stares at her, eyes narrowing.

“You can tell me, Bedelia. Whatever you desire. I am here to please you,” his accent grows thicker with lust, coarse consonants arousing her in turn.

His hand continues to work on her dress, pulling the zipper all the way down; the fabric falls to the ground together with the remains of her resistance. She moves as a perfect counterpart, nimble fingers making quick work of his shirt and pushing it off his shoulders, impatient to explore and trace firm muscles. His trousers and briefs follow, landing on the floor with a soft thud. Hannibal shifts his hips against her, the hot length of his erection pressing against her skin, undisguised in his desire. After the years of hidden yearning, he is finally free to let his lust reign and he is not afraid to show it.

Standing on the tips of her toes, she wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him deeply. His mouth still tastes like Amaretto and it goes well with the flavour of him, making her savour it without restrain. Her teeth graze his bottom lip and he groans, pulling her closer, the heat of their bodies now reaching critical highs.

Still on her toes, she gradually steps backwards, guiding them towards the bed. Her legs meet the frame sooner than expected and she loses her balance, falling on the bed and pulling him with her. Hannibal’s arms soften her fall, keeping her close to his chest, and the mattress shifts gently under the weight of them as he lays her down with care. Smiling, his eyes survey her slowly, hands removing the last nuisance of lace underwear, to reveal all her glory.

“ _Meraviglia_ ,” he whispers as his lips begin their journey down her body, pressing adoring kisses on every inch of her skin.

Bedelia feels uninhibited under his regard, like a Venus reborn, much like a Botticelli painting she has caught him recreating with her as the goddess. And she does not shy away from the comparison any longer. A moan slips pass her half open lips as his mouth now lavishes her breasts with fervent caresses. She arches her chest and takes his hand, guiding it between her legs to the spot that desperately demands his attention. Obediently, he traces her swollen lips and dips his fingers within the folds. Her hips buckle as he strokes her, knowing exactly how she wants to be touched. He lifts his head with the same smile as before, silently repeating his question and promise.

_Whatever she wants._

She bites her lip as his thumb presses her bud just the right way and her mind feels buoyant and untroubled, the hidden cravings now free to rise unrepressed. Removing his hand, she twists herself to lie on her stomach. Hannibal follows at once; his arm wraps around her waist as he pulls her hips up, making her rest on her forearms. The bed shifts as he moves to position himself between her thighs, with a pleased smile on his lips, no doubt. He was proven right, there was something on her mind; for once, Bedelia is happy not to be able to see his face.

His hands caress her hips and her back as he teases her briefly before finally thrusting in. She sighs at the sudden sensation and something flares up within her as he fills her up completely. He rocks gently against her, waiting for her to adjust and she relishes the feeling of him, so warm and thick. His hands grab her hips and pull back, adjusting his angle and easily finding her needy spot. A deep moan escapes her lips as he continues to slide in and out. It is not a position she would choose in the past; it made her feel exposed and vulnerable, willingly giving herself to her lover and trusting them with her fulfilment. But now she freely surrenders to the sensation, feeling weightless as Hannibal quickens the pace.

“ _Oui, ici_ ,” she encourages him as he continues to prod that perfect spot, “ _Plus_.”

The hold on her hips becomes stronger, his fingers pressing into her flesh with an iron clasp, one she knows will leave a mark as his thrusts become even harder and untamed. Bedelia’s mind registers nothing but him moving within her; the tiny speck of pleasure in her core blossoms quickly and erupts with force, taking over her senses.

Her limbs still trembling, she returns to the present moment, the only thing holding her steady is Hannibal’s tight grip on her hips as he continues to push deeply. Soon, she loses herself in the movement again, hips pressing back to meet his, her body hungrily wanting more. Bedelia feels an unexpected tingle beneath her hairline, a strange itch demanding to be scratched. It is not something she would allow herself to consider before, but now…

“Hannibal,” she utters suddenly, “pull my hair.” Her voice sounds shy, barely audible through the sound of their moving bodies and she hopes he has heard her; she might not have the nerve to say it again.

His pace slows down, and his hand moves tenderly across the sleek skin of her back, until it pauses on the nap of her neck.

He has heard her.

Fingers stroke the skin along the line of her hair, feather-like caress, but it already makes her shiver. His fingers sink between the strands of her hair, still carefully grazing the skin of her scalp, perhaps giving her time to reconsider. Bedelia inhales sharply, grasping the sheets in silent anticipation and continuing to rock together with him. Finally, he grasps a handful of her hair and pulls gently, like a cautious test, awaking all the nerve endings under her skin and making her gasp. Satisfied with her reaction, she can feel him tightening the grip on her hip anew as his hand now gathers her hair in a ponytail. She can sense him tensing as if assessing the perfect moment and when she thinks she can no longer bare the wait, he pushes hard within her and tugs her hair at the same time. She cries out, it feels _exquisite_ ; all the sparks kindled at once, fire spreading within her at an alarming rate. It is a never-ending cycle of bliss as he continues to thrust vigorously and pull her hair, again and again, harder each time, pain melding into pleasure, making her inner muscles quiver, arms barely holding her up. She can no longer control the moans spilling from her lips without reserve as he holds her body in a grasp of ecstasy.

The hand on her hips abandons its imprinted spot and reaches between her legs, his thumb finding her clit and pressing in tempo. The additional pressure is too much for Bedelia; her legs shake violently, and she collapses on her forearms as pleasure takes over, spasms wracking her body, stars exploding behind her closed eyes. Hannibal’s arm wraps around her chest to prevent her body from falling further and her hand instinctively seeks its anchor, fingers grasping, nails digging into his flesh, deep enough to leave marks. Her walls continue to contract around him as the waves of her orgasm wash over her repeatedly; she can hear Hannibal come with a loud groan of relief, making her realise he was holding himself back for her complete fulfilment.

They still, both panting, sleek skin against sleek skin, relishing the sensation of being together so thoroughly. Finally, Hannibal moves to lie down on the bed and pulls her with him, her unsteady body yielding to his haul. She rests her head on his chest, listening to his rapid heartbeat slowly returning to normal, while he presses kisses on her hairline. It makes her shiver still; her nerve endings remain sensitive after all the attention, a pleasant echo of her enjoyment. She feels fragile, her armour split open so completely, it makes her to want to hide. And somehow, his arms feel like a perfect place to do so. She snuggles against him and drifts away, intrusive thoughts no longer weighing on her mind.

 

She wakes up to the muffled sound of bells, ringing with fresh vigour as the new day starts. Feeling snug and cosy, her hand reaches over to the other side of the bed and finds its disappointingly empty. She opens her eyes and looks at the vacant space of the unmade bed. The crumpled sheets make her smile; the silent witnesses to their evening of passion and the soothing night spent in each other’s firm embrace. She stretches herself, sore muscles waking up with a start and reluctantly leaves the bed. Reaching for her robe, still hanging on the back of her vanity’s chair, she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror and pauses. Her hair is mussed, her skin flushed; she looks completely undone, but above all, satiated. Bedelia slips the silky fabric on, unsure what to make of herself. Her hand hovers over the hairbrush but stops; she looks at her reflection once more, it is oddly satisfying.

Feet bare, she leaves the bedroom and heads to the kitchen, guided by the inviting aroma of coffee. She pulls the sash firmer around her waist, feeling like she is attempting to pull the strands of herself together along with it.

“Good morning,” Hannibal welcomes her without turning when she barely steps through the threshold, alerted by her steps or perhaps her scent, a notion that continues to excite Bedelia to no end.

Shirtless, his hair dishevelled as well, he busies himself with the coffee maker. He pours the steamed milk with a flourish of a hand, then turns with a cup at ready for her. The sight of her makes him halt. He stares at her with adoration, wide smile pulling at his lips. He places the cup on the counter and walks toward her. His hand reaches out to smooth the unruly strands of her hair, making her blush even more. Bedelia’s hand strokes his other arm, fingers gently caressing the scratches she left on his skin last night. The arm then wraps around her waist and pulls her against his chest, his skin warm and inviting. His eyes keep gazing at her, flickering with emotions, taking in her unpolished state with fervour as though afraid it will soon disappear and give way to the carefully controlled image of Doctor Du Maurier. His thumb strokes her cheek and he places a soft kiss on her lips as if to seal that image of her, his Bedelia. She sighs softly, adjusting his hair in return, enjoying him being equally undone.

“Last night you were unhinged. Like some desperate demon,” she utters against his cheek.

“Did I frighten you?” he asks, fingers still smoothing her locks.

“Yes,” she responds. It frightened her how much she craved it and how good it felt to be so unconstrained with him, so wanton. “Do it again,” she demands, her voice more daring now and Hannibal grins, securing her request with another kiss.

She sinks into the kiss and his arms, feeling the newly looped threads unravelling again and falling in shreds around them. And Bedelia does not care to pick them up.

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt: ""Last night you were unhinged. You were like some desperate, howling demon. You frightened me. Do it again!", The Addams Family quote which I have altered slightly here. Hope it works!  
> 


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